Learning to Fly
by Hellafreak
Summary: Cas has been taken. Dean needs to find him. Destiel Eventual M
1. Chapter 1

Seventeen thousand nine hundred and sixty- two.

There were seventeen thousand nine hundred and sixty- two stones in Castiel's prison cell. He had counted them over and over again, in every language he knew. _Twice_. Some might call it insanity, but on the contrary, it kept Castiel more sane than anything else in his twelve by twelve cell. Between staring at the blank, black ceiling and throwing one of six pebbles at the damp walls, this was invigorating. After the first two days he learned that praying did little but slightly calm his nerves. No matter if he screamed at the top of his lungs or went deep inside to the depths of his grace, either no one in heaven could hear him or the charred sigils burned into the stones kept any angelic help out. Two and a half days into solitude, and thinking began to do nothing but cause pain. It seemed that Castiel's mind had turned to one big screaming match of curses and pleas, clawing at the inside of his skull. Or rather, Jimmy's skull... If he was even still alive...

Castiel sighed. Jimmy Novak deserved better than being _tied to a comet_. If in heaven, or still holding on, Castiel hoped he knew that...

The angel cringed, thinking was beginning to pain him, again. He needed something to block it out, and it was time for Lithuanian again, one of his favorites.

_Vienas, du, trys, keturi_- his mantra was broken by a loud bang outside the cell's giant door. The wood splintered, but gave, admitting a tall, hooded figure. Castiel quickly accessed the damaged done to the sigils painted on the door, but it was still untouchable to him.

"The month is over. Your time has come again, Angel," the figure growled.

He quickly calculated the days since the last visit with his captor. Could it really have been a month already? Castiel pushed aside the slight panic and slid into soldier mode.

"So it has," he replied calmly.

The man beneath the hood smiled and brought two fingers to his lips. Castiel was instantly flattened against the wall, all control over his vessel ceased to exist. The man leisurely made his way to the metallic hospital bench now occupying one of the side walls. He grinned to himself as he brought up each weapon laying on it to the dim light filtering through the doorway. Each seemed rather simple, sleek, but Castiel knew every one by stories and legends. The hooded man possessed an array of angel weapons that no one, not even heaven could match.

He took the longest blade and cleaned it with a rag soaked in holy oil. Slowly, he walked toward Castiel.

"Castiel," the man hissed, letting the name slide across his lips, "Poor little angel with clipped wings. How does it feel to be one of the strongest beings in existence and so-" he dug the tip of the blade into Castiel's arm, "-_powerless_?'

The angel sucked in a sharp breath, pain coursing through his body like wildfire. His captor twisted the knife full circle before he languidly pulled it out with smile. "I don't think I caught that answer."

Castiel glared in response.

The man raised his eyebrows and hummed, "I suppose we'll have to do this the difficult way then."

He brought his hands to each side of Castiel's face, framing it. With closed eyes, he saw everything. Every thought the angel had ever dared to think, every doubt, every secret. It was worse than anything he could physically do. Castiel could fight back, to an extent, but the effort it took was astonishing, and the hooded man nearly always left with some piece of information.

"Hmm," the man fished for something. It took a minute, but discovery flashed over his shadowed features, "_Dean_? Who is Dean?"

Memories raced through Castiel's head. His guard dropped for a millisecond in his panic to keep his thoughts about Dean concealed, but a millisecond was plenty of time for the man to see everything.

"_Oh_," the man let his hands fall and Castiel dropped to the floor in a heap, "Oh,_Castiel_, you naughty boy."

Castiel tried to focus on pushing the pain down, rather than the man's words, but they rose like smoke in a burning house.

"A _human_?" he drawled, "I must say, you have picked a handsome one though. And judging by the amount of times you've been caught in staring matches with him, I bet you'd say the same. Tell me, do you just get _lost_ those green eyes of his?"

The man cackled, "I may just have to go visit him when I finally drain you. In fact..."

The man rolled his shoulders and his body shifted and changed. When he finally stilled, he appeared as Jimmy Novak, wearing tight black pants, leather jacket, and a devilish grin. "I bet he'd drop to his knees and _beg_ me to fuck him when he finally sees his dear Castiel's face again... Or wait, what does he call you that you love so much? _Cas_?"

A bright light flashed behind Castiel's eyes. When he opened them, he had the man against the wall, an angel blade at his throat. Rage flared inside him like an untamed animal. "_Only Dean can call me that_," he snarled through clenched teeth.

A second passed and the man smiled. The blade vanished from Castiel's hand and the man had him raised above the ground by the throat. His eyes turned a deep, blood red.

"You've made a big mistake, Angel."

-

"_Josie's on a vacation far away_," Dean shuffled toward the decompression valve he left on Bobby's work bench, "_Come around and talk it over. So many things I wanna say_." He twisted a bolt, finally securing the valve and finishing the ancient ford. He smiled at his handiwork, "_You know I like my girls a tad bit older_."

"Tell me you're not singing to a truck," Sam cringed as he turned down the radio, "And _Your Love_? Really?"

"Whatever. Hey did you reach Cas?" Dean looked around the giant standing in the doorway of Bobby's garage, "Is he here?"

Sam gave him a pitying look and shook his head. Damn, that was the fourth time they'd prayed that week. Dean tried to keep from pushing the panic button, but it wasn't like Cas to ignore them like this. He usually popped up before they could even finish saying his name, now four times and not even a sign? _What the hell_?

"Sam, I think-"

"Yeah, I know. I'm worried too. I don't really know what else to do though," his brother ran a hand through his mane. _God that kid needed a haircut_. "It's not like we can go up to heaven or anything."

"Yeah..." Dean stared out at the field behind Bobby's house, "It's just not like him..."

Sam crossed the room and clapped him on the shoulder, "It'll be okay, Dean, I'm sure he's fine. We'll just have to keep trying."

Dean nodded, keeping his eyes on the field. He hated feeling like a worried mom. Why couldn't the damn angel just pick up or whatever? Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Sam walking back up to Bobby's house, leaving him alone with his thoughts and a radio playing John Mayer.

Dean sighed. It was still kind of weird not hunting every night. Their break was becoming a lot longer than they both had anticipated. Every week became _just a couple more days, Bobby_. The old man didn't care either way, in fact he kind of liked having company around. Just taking calls once in a blue moon got old real fast. Now he had someone to yell at, to buy groceries for. It was a pretty good little thing they had going. Dean was actually fixing the cars in Bobby's lot, Sam was going through the boxes from the attic covered in a half inch of dust, and Bobby got in a little snap every while when they would forget to wipe their shoes on the front mat. It was beginning to feel more like a routine than a vacation. And, weirdly enough, Dean was okay with that.

But, this thing with Castiel was really starting to bother him. Dean ran a nervous hand through his short hair, trying to keep level. If praying wasn't working, they could summon the angel... Dean was pretty sure Bobby had all the things they'd need in his basement. He grabbed a rag off the hook by the garage door and made his way toward the house, scrubbing the grease off his hands as he walked.

"Hey, Sammy," Dean called, letting the screen door slam shut behind him, "Where's Bobby's book on summoning?"

"On the shelf by the couch," the sound of his voice grew louder as he moved toward Dean in the living room, "Why do you need a..."

He stopped in the kitchen, a look of realization crossing his face. He nodded to himself and turned to the basement stairs, "I'll get the stuff."

Dean nodded and pulled the pocket knife out of his jacket. Cursing, he made a small cut on the inside of his arm. He got enough blood on his fingers and began drawing the sigils on the floor in Bobby's living room. He was almost done and slightly dizzy from the smell of blood, when the old man came in from the other side of the house.

"What in the hell are you doing to my floor, Boy?" he growled.

"Look," Dean stood slowly, "Me and Sam have been calling Cas for a week and he hasn't answered. We just want to make sure he's okay."

Bobby rubbed his chin, his eyes softening a bit, "Okay, fine. But.. what if he's in some kinda top secret heaven meeting and can't come to the phone? Won't this thing just piss him off?"

Sam came up the stairs from the basement, arms full of various jars and bowls. "If he is, Bobby, then I think we'd rather deal with a pissed off angel than a dead one."

Something lurched in Dean's stomach, making a fresh wave of panic set in. Yeah, no they were doing this. And they were doing it _now_.

"You can either stay and help or complain about the floor with all the other housewives. Either way, we're doing this thing," Dean said sternly, flipping the book open to the proper ritual.

"Okay, fine, Princess," Bobby held up his hands in surrender, "I'll help get Feathers back. But a please would be nice next time." He opened a cabinet in his desk and pulled out the large metal bowl they always used for rituals.

"Please, my ass," Dean mumbled under his breath, "Okay, here we are, _Angel Summoning_. Jesus, you'd think we'd have this thing memorized by now."

Dean watched as Sam added the last sprinkle of magic hoodoo into the pot. He cleared his throat, "Castiel,_ et ad congregandum eos coram me._" He flicked a match into the bowl and a small plume of blue smoke burst out of the flame.

A minute passed with the three keeping their eyes on the small space in front of the sigil, holding their breath. Another two minutes passed and Sam finally broke the silence.

"Maybe we could try another angel? See if they know anything?"

"Yeah, okay," Dean tried to keep the worry from reaching his face. He lit another match and shook his head a bit, "Gabriel,_ et ad congregandum eos coram me_."

"You know," an all too familiar voice sounded from behind them. Dean turned on the spot to see Gabriel, the holy douche himself, looking through Bobby's fridge, "I may not have a _'profound bond_' with you guys or anything, but you could've just prayed."

He turned to face them, kicking the door closed with his heel. He held a bowl of ice-cream in his hands and started attacking. It might've been a year, hell maybe two, since they'd last seen Gabriel, but of course he looked exactly the same. Same sneer, same mischief in his eyes. Dean sighed. He should've called Balthazar.

"Gabriel, have you heard from Castiel in a while? We've prayed and tried summoning him, but he hasn't come," Sam asked, getting down to business, "We were getting worried."

Gabriel's sneer fell from his face. He lowered the bowl from his mouth and frowned, "You mean he's not here with you?"

Dean's heart rate doubled, "No, we haven't seen him in weeks."

"Oh, crap," the angel hopped down from the counter, "We all thought he was with you two. No one in heaven could detect him and we thought it was... Oh,_crap_."

"Wait, wait, what does that mean? Couldn't he just be flying below radar or something?" Dean asked, not caring about the fear on his face now.

"Not unless he's with someone who's been warded against angels. And so far, you two are the only ones with the special treatment," he shifted his eyes between Dean and his brother, "Ever. Otherwise-"

"How do you lose a friggin' angel?" Bobby muttered, disbelief plastered on his face.

"-we could sense his grace anywhere in the universe," Gabriel continued, ignoring the older man.

"But since he's not here... Well let's just say it can't be good and leave it at that," he grimaced and turned toward the door to leave, "Now I gotta jet and I can't do it here _so_-"

"Wait," Dean grabbed him by the shoulder, "That's it? You're just_ leaving_? Aren't you going to help us try and find him?"

"Look," Gabriel shoved his hand away, "I gotta let the big guys upstairs know what's going on. If Cassie can't be sensed by anyone in heaven, then there ought to be an ass load of magic keeping him hidden. No offense, but I don't think his bumbling boyfriend and sasquatch brother need to get involved. Let the angels take care of this one, alright Chap?"

Dean's blood boiled, "Hey, we are plenty capable of helping your feathery asses. Are you forgetting who stopped Lucifer and the apocalypse?"

"Not even Lucifer can conceal an Angel, Sweetheart. This thing's bound to be nastier than anything you could ever handle," the angel turned back toward the door, "Just take my advice and don't try and get involved. We'll have Cassie back to you in no time, scout's honor." The door rattled shut behind him.

"Yeah, well fuck your scout's honor," Dean called after him.

The three stood in stunned silence. Cas was missing. Castiel, angel of the lord, was _missing_. Dean tried to swallow the nervous lump forming in his throat, but it just kept coming back. _How could he have been so stupid_? The only thing that would keep Cas from answering was someone, or something, stopping him. It had been months since he had last seen the angel. How long had he actually been out of reach? And it was his fault. If only he had tried summoning him weeks ago, they would've known. Hell, they might have him back right now. Dean choked on the air in his throat.

Cas had been taken. And Dean needed to find him. He crossed the room and started grabbing books off Bobby's shelf and loading them onto the kitchen table. Sam and Bobby simply stared at him.

"Well? Are you guys gonna help me find out whatever's keeping Cas or what?"

Sam, frightened by the aspect of their friend missing and that look he's never seen on his brother's face, sat down at the coffee table and switched on his laptop. Bobby rubbed at his forehead and began sifting through the books on his desk.

"Ya know," Bobby said after a beat of silence, "If Gabriel's telling the truth, this son of a bitch keepin' Feathers ain't gonna be easy to find. 'Specially if he don't wanna be found."

"Then we got work to do," Dean sat at the table and started leafing through the first of the books.

_Don't worry, Cas_, he prayed,_ we're on our way._


	2. Chapter 2

**Hey! I just wanted to add a little note and thank you guys for reading! To clarify, this is written as if the whole purgatory and leviathan stuff never happened. Gabriel never died and Cas never became God. Alright. There ya go. Enjoy~**

"Dean?" Sam whispered from his spot on Bobby's couch.

The room was bathed in dim light from a single lamp. The basin they had used earlier for the ritual and all the ingredients had been pushed aside so the older winchester could work at Bobby's desk. He had been doing research on Cas' captor for about nine hours now, with no leads.

Dean glanced up at his brother who slowly sat up, rubbing his eyes, then back to the page he was reading on a _Zula_.

"What's up, Sammy?" he mumbled, flipping to the next page.

"It's four nineteen," Sam continued to whisper, "You can't keep reading the same books all night. At least get a few hours of sleep."

"Yeah, Sam, I will," Dean waved a hand in his brothers direction, "Go back to sleep."

"You're no good to Cas burnt out, man," Sam sighed and moved to lay back down.

"Mmm," Dean replied, rereading a paragraph he'd read six times already, only half listening to his brother.

The hunter blinked and the room was cloaked in darkness. He squinted his eyes, adjusting them enough to the darkness, to see Sam pulling his arm back from the lamp.

"Bitch."

"Jerk," Sam quipped back.

Dean knew any attempt to argue or turn the light back on would end up the same. The light would end up out and Dean would be left to fight sleep until morning.

The thing with Dean was, no matter if he was given a break or a couple hours rest, he couldn't take it. Not on a hunt. Not when something was still out there. And definitely not when his best friend was missing. Because that's what they were. Best friends. That's why Dean had a huge pit in his stomach and couldn't think straight. That's why he couldn't eat and felt like there was a thousand pound weight on his chest. _Best friends felt that way._

Dean mentally slapped himself. Thoughts like that were definitely not going to help him sleep. The cot he had set up earlier was comfortable enough, maybe if his mind would shut the hell up he could get some shut eye. Dean rolled onto the makeshift bed and shut out the moonlit room. He waited for sleep to come, silently praying to an angel who couldn't hear him.

~•~

"_-I really need you back, Buddy. Just... Just stay alive, okay? Please... Please..._" and then it was over.

Castiel slowly pulled the hands away from his face. Torture. That had been _torture_. Unlike anything he had ever encountered. More painful than any blade or any infiltration of his mind. Listening to Dean's prayers, knowing that he couldn't respond or stop the hurt in the man's voice. It twisted like a vice on his chest.

And all he could do was sit. Sit and wait.

_Wait for what? _he thought_. Death? An angel? The Winchesters?_

Castiel knew the brothers were tough, even tough enough to trap Lucifer back in Hell. But this... This _thing_ holding him was too powerful. It would rip them to shreds before they could even fight back. Castiel just hoped that he would be dead and the thing would have moved on before the brother's could find his prison. Then they could be safe.

If only Castiel could warn them.

~•~

_The room was bright. Like, twelve o' clock noon bright. How long had he slept in? Dean rubbed the sleep from his eyes and glanced around Bobby's living room. Everything was blue, bathed in deep indigo. He turned to the window and the moon stared straight back at him. It was impossibly huge, at least ten times it's normal size. But that wasn't what held his attention. The air was full of crystals, suspended in space. Just hanging there for no one in particular. They were almost hypnotizing. They pulled Dean toward the window, willing him to come outside, to come closer._

_He responded as if in a trance, walking straight out the backdoor without any protection from the frigid November air. The world was eerily silent and at any other time Dean would've armed himself, but he felt so peaceful. So safe. The hanging crystals passed through his fingers as he felt for them, leaving nothing but cool air on his fingers. He wondered what they were, why they pulled at him._

_"Dean," a voice whispered, too familiar to be anyone else's._

_"Cas," Dean breathed, turning to see the angel standing before him, practically glowing in the blue light._

_He stepped closer and Dean felt his breath catch in his throat. He tried to laugh it off, but Castiel was looking at him with those eyes, the ones that shone like crystals._

_"How long has it been?" Castiel asked, stepping even closer._

_"Three or four months," Dean replied automatically, then softened, "Cas, I miss you so damn _much_, I can't even-"_

_"Shh," the angel rested his forehead against his. Dean leaned into it, accepting the comfort. "I'm here, Dean, I'm not going anywhere."_

_Dean opened his eyes, not even realizing he had shut them and stared into bright blue. He brought his lips to Castiel's and-_

_"DEAN!"_

_The scream shook him violently. He was standing back in the living room. The moon was back to normal and the crystals were gone. The only thing remaining was an electric current running back and forth over his lips._

_"Dean," the same familiar voice spoke._

_"Cas?" _

_He stood in front of Dean as before, but looked less... Solid. More like a projection of himself, like a ghost..._

_"Oh, God Cas, tell me you're not-"_

_"I'm not dead. I'm projecting myself into your dream," his image flickered, like television static, "It is more difficult with humans. I'm not sure how long it will last."_

_"It's okay, um," Dean's mind flashed back to a minute earlier in the backyard. God, he hoped the angel didn't see that. "Where are you, Cas? What's got you?"_

_"I'm not sure," Castiel grimaced, "On either accounts. I have only seen the inside of my prison cell. The wards are keeping me from using my abilities or contacting my brothers. But this... Thing is powerful. You can't come looking for me, Dean. Not even the angels would be able to stop it. You have to promise me-"_

_"Cas, you know I can't do that," Dean cut him off, "You know I can't just sit here with my thumb up my ass while you're stuffed in some freak's basement. I can't... I can't promise you I won't come looking. I can't."_

_"Dean," the angel squeezed his shoulder, "If you come after this thing, you will die and so will Sam. I _can't_ have your blood on my hands, Dean," he let his hand fall back to his side and straightened his shoulder, "Because if I do, I will have killed myself long before this monster could."_

_Dean felt his heart drop into his stomach, "Cas, I-"_

_"Please, Dean," Cas sighed, sounding tired and a lifetime older, "Don't."_

_But he knew he couldn't do it. He couldn't just not do anything and wait for Cas to die. _

_The angel's image became fuzzier, flickering frequently. "I have to go. I don't know when I'll have the strength to project again. I-" he stopped, his mouth twisting with pain, "If I don't see you again, thank you, Dean. For everything."_

_"Don't talk like that. I'll see you again. Just don't give up, Cas. Stay ali-"_

~•~

Dean sat up straight on the cot, gasping for breath. His clothes were plastered to his skin with sweat. His hair felt like he had just run through a sprinkler, yet he shook with cold chills coursing through his body.

"Dean?" Sam was at his bed in seconds, looking panicked in the early morning light, "What's wrong? Are you-"

Dean had a two second warning before he leaned over the other side of the bed and vomited, ridding his stomach of all it's contents. His brother looked even more worried, if that was possible. His brother mumbled something about a cool rag and ran into the kitchen. Dean tried to gain composure before he got back, but obviously dream projecting really wasn't meant for humans. But it was worth it. It was worth more than anything in the world.

An hour of '_I'm fine_'s and '_Come on, Sammy_'s later, had Sam and Dean in the car and on their way to Lawrence.

"So why are we going to Missouri's again?" Sam asked for the third time, confusion wrinkling his face.

Dean sighed, "I told you, Sammy. Back when Dad would head over there every other week, I actually listen while you just sat there looking stupid. He would always ask about some dream he had about Mom and Missouri would say that '_the connection is always strongest after you dream of someone_'. But this wasn't dreaming, Sam. This was an actual _connection_."

Dean paused letting that sink in, "Maybe she'll be able to work her hoodoo mumbo and find Cas."

"Yeah, Dean," Sam pulled his best '_I'm not sure about this_' face, "But, even if she can find Cas, we still don't know how to kill the thing that took him. And if it's as bad as Cas and Gabriel say it is, then I don't think just betting on Ruby's knife is a good plan."

"We can worry about that later," Dean spotted the road sign that read **Lawerence, Kansas 47 miles**, "Just drive faster."

A half hour later they pulled into Missouri's driveway with her already waiting on the front porch. As soon as they were within ear- shot (or _mind- shot_ or whatever) her face contorted with concern.

"Come in, come in, boys," she all but pushed them through the door, "We have to hurry now."

"Missouri, I-" Dean started, but the psychic stopped him with a small smile.

"I understand, Dean," she turned to Sam, "I love you, boy, but you cannot be in here for the reading. I must have complete and utter focus on your brother's noodle here."

Sam seemed wary. He shot Dean one last worried glance and he nodded, attempting a grin, but feeling a grimace. His brother reluctantly went to sit in the living room while Missouri dragged Dean down another hallway.

"First off," the little woman turned around to smack him on the shoulder, "How dare you let four months go by, thinkin' nothing of it."

"I know, _I know_, I-"

"Second off," Missouri continued into a small candle lit room, "Why won't you man up and admit to yourself what's really going on between you and that angel?"

Dean froze pulling out his chair. He started to deny it, but Missouri spoke again, "You know what? Never mind, now your mind's runnin' a mile a minute. One thing at a time I suppose. Here, give me your hands."

Dean sat down at the little table and offered up his hands. He willed his mind to _shut the hell up already_ and focus on the dream. Missouri chuckled. _Damn_, he hated having his thoughts on display.

After a moment of silence, the psychic's brow furrowed. "Oh, oh my," she whispered, clutching his hands tighter.

Dean wanted to asked what she was seeing, but knew that it was best not to interrupt. She would relay everything back to him soon enough.

"Castiel," she said, like she was weighing the name on her tongue. Dean fought back a shiver. "He... He does not want to be found. It's proving to be... To be difficult to locate him. I'm..."

Dean waited, literally on the edge of his seat. "This thing keeping him is old. Older than The Lord himself. He... I can't quite make out a name... But he's got your angel by the wings and he has no intentions of letting him go... Wait... Wait, I'm-" she paused, beginning to shake violently.

The candles in the room were instantly blown out. The temperature dropped thirty degrees. Missouri titled her head up to Dean and opened her eyes, revealing them to be a deep crystal blue.

"Dean," she spoke, but the voice wasn't her own.

Dean nearly choked, "_Cas_? What're you-"

"I told you not to look for me. You have to stop-" Missouri blinked, her eyes returning to their usual brown. "Castiel," she spoke, her voice her own, "Castiel, where are you?"

Dean waited, holding his breath.

She blinked again, "Dean, you have to stop. I can't take-"

Then he was gone. The chill disappeared as if nothing had happened, the candles relit themselves. Missouri sat, pressing three fingers to her forehead, eyes closed.

"Missouri?" Dean asked tentatively, crossing the space to her.

"I'm fine, I'm fine," she waved him away, "I wasn't expecting that. But I... I got his location. Although I'm sure he doesn't want you to have it."

Dean pushed his shaking hands into his pockets, waiting for her to say more. When she didn't, he couldn't of held back if he tried.

"Missouri, you have to tell me where he is. I can't- I _have_ to find him. He's my-" the words stuck in his throat, "My best friend. I can't just wait for him to die."

Missouri lifted her head, her features looking as if they'd aged years in minutes, "Dean, you know I can read minds, yet you _continue_ to lie to me."

She paused, thinking over her next words, "But I'm a sucker for you two," she smiled, "Your angel's in Michigan. Luther, Michigan. In some kind of underground bunker," she sighed, standing up from the table.

"That's all I can give you on location. But this thing that's got him... It's not going to be easy to kill. Just... Be careful, alright?"

She patted him on the shoulder as the entered the living room. Sam shot up like a rocket, ready for any new information.

"Thanks, Missouri," Dean grinned, "I'll call you as soon as we've got him."

"No need," she walked them to the door, "I'm sure that little episode will have me connected to the angel for a bit."

Sam gave the psychic a hug and jogged to the impala. Dean was already half way in the driver's seat, ready to map out the back ways and push ninety all the way to Luther.

"Oh and Dean," Missouri called from the front porch, "I saw that little dream of yours. With the crystals?"

Dean felt his face turn seven kinds of red. Same just looked at him then back to Missouri, confused.

She smiled, turning back to her front door, "Maybe you should try that when you see him again. I'm sure your angel wouldn't mind... Not at _all_..."

Dean slammed the impala's door before she could continue. He had the car out of the driveway and back on the road in ten seconds flat.

"What was that all about?" Dean could feel his brother's eyes burning a hole in the side of his face, but he kept his eyes on the road.

"Nothing, Sammy," he answered, "The important thing is, we got Cas' location and know a bit more on that evil son of a bitch."

Sam's excitement was electric, "Where is he? Where are we going?"

"Luther, Michigan."

Dean flicked on some AC/DC and turned the volume all the way up. He could almost _feel_ his brother's eye roll as he floored it all the way out of Lawerence.

~•~

"I told you, Castiel," the man wiped the red covering his hands onto a handkerchief, "What did I tell you?"

Castiel wretched for the sixth time, pure blood emptying from his stomach. Blood laced with gold, the grace of an angel.

"To not... Not to... Call for help," Castiel wiped his mouth, "But I _wasn't_- I-"

The man kicked him, hard, in the stomach, forcing the angel to land on all fours.

"Fine then, allow me to be more specific," he brushed a black feather off of his cloak, "If you make any attempt to communicate with your little _fuck buddy human_ again, I'll finish what I started tonight and you'll never fly again."

Castiel could only barely hear the door slam, dull pain aching in his ears. After some time, he gathered enough strength and turned back to look at his wings.

The beautiful, pristine works of art that once occupied his back were now gone. Completely mangled, dripping with blood and his golden grace. Feathers littered the floor, reminders of each painful rip.

They were broken in every way possible.

And Castiel only wished that the man would've just finished the job and cut them off entirely.


End file.
